


in the years that have passed us by...

by axm



Category: Castle (TV 2009)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21787990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/axm/pseuds/axm
Summary: I wonder if you'll remember me, from a past life?
Relationships: Kate Beckett/Richard Castle
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	in the years that have passed us by...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InkyCoffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkyCoffee/gifts).



> Happy Birthday Lou!

_In the years that have passed us by…_ _  
  
  
_

* * *

_in my Babylon…._

* * *

He spends a lifetime admiring her from afar. The king’s daughter. When she pets the goats, their milk is sweeter; should she venture into the fields, the golden wheat bends towards her and the harvest is bountiful that year. She carries the strength of Ishtar, a strength that intensifies after her mother dies. Her father withdraws, grows angry, but she only becomes more determined. In time, the darkness that consumes her father threatens to destroy him. The king is seen outside less.

Sometimes, he wonders if she now rules behind those gates. Keeping the city prospering, because her father cannot.

He keeps a tally, scratches on clay, of when he sees her. He knows she lives in fear, that those responsible for her mother’s death will come after her father and herself.

He watches from a distance, watches over her, keeps her safe from harm.

They never speak, but his etches in the clay tell of a lifetime in her presence.

And when the years catch up with him and she is married with her own family, and he believes any threats on her life long gone too, his only regret is never having had the courage to speak to her.

Maybe they will meet in the underworld, in the land below, where she will be with her mother again.

Maybe he will say hello then.

* * *

_carry people to another time…._

* * *

She is a mystery and try as he might he doubts he will ever truly understand her. His eyes follow her as she moves through the field. She carries herself like Artemis, beguiles him like Aphrodite, and has Athena’s aegis so firmly in place that no man can tempt her.  
He knows a little about her. Her knows her name: Aikaterine. He knows she lost her mother, Ioanna, just a month ago, and considers that could be why she has been drawn to Eleusis and the initiation rite taking place after sun-down. She gives so little away. He has spoken to her, a few times, but she remains guarded.

To his imaginative mind, once all the pieces are connected, it seems confirmed that this is why she is here on this day. He knows that, like Persephone, she might be looking to reunite with her mother. In this life, or in the underworld. Whatever the cost to her.  
He likes to immerse himself in his writing but, as a scribe, he won’t see much. There is only so much he can write about the Mysteries, only so much they will reveal to him. So, he has a plan, to insert himself into the ceremony tonight, and to write about one initiate in particular. Aikaterine. He isn’t sure why he is drawn specifically to her, but he’s never been this enraptured before. Never met someone so challenging before.

Maybe in time his words will reveal the woman behind the mask she wears.

She glances up, catches his eye, and smiles softly before turning away.

_In time?_ There may not be enough years in one lifetime to understand this mystery.

* * *

_I've never seen your eyes like that...  
_

* * *

He falls in love with an inn-keepers daughter. Dark-haired, full-lipped, and with a mind sharper than his rapier’s blade. He meets her, just once, and can’t get her out of his mind. He was just passing through this village. He supposes he will stay a little longer now.  
  
He woos her. Katherine. She reads his letters to her, visible through the casement glass, and he knows that she knows that he’s watching. Just for a few minutes. Just to see her smile at his words. And then he leaves. He’s an observer. Nothing more.

_Until…_

She agrees to a meeting, a chaperone present, but it may as well just be the two of them he’s so captivated by her. There’s a kaleidoscope of years beyond her own dancing in her eyes. Her irises colored by past lives, that only he can see. A gift? A mind open to such things? Or maybe he imagines it; he’s so good at creating stories. Whatever the reasons for what he thinks he sees, he can’t stay quiet. He tries to tell her, but maybe his language is too flowery as he speaks of her soul’s longevity because she laughs like he’s crazy. The chaperone stands, fear in her eyes, and she tugs Katherine away.

When he calls her name, she ignores him.

When he calls by her home, she won’t see him.

He’s put the fear of her being seen as a witch into her mind, and her heart has no place for him now.

With his horse, a few belongings, he moves on. Maybe he missed his chance in this lifetime. But there will be more. Their journey together isn’t over yet. Souls in one life are connected in the next. He might not remember this life, but his soul will never forget hers.

* * *

_I spend all my time looking back…._

* * *

He’s never enjoyed these dances. He attends them, because it’s expected, and he always attracts the attention of the fairer sex, but none ever go beyond one meeting or two. None have challenged him yet. None inspire him.

Until Catherine. He’s intrigued by her lack of interest in dances and courting. She has no desire to marry. _Interesting._

It takes time, it takes months, before she will even speak to him. More time before she opens up and tells him about herself. It’s almost a year of work before she agrees to dance with him.

He sits one evening, in a neighboring household, discussing Catherine with his friend’s daughter, Jane. He’s thinking of writing about Catherine, he tells her. He even starts, managing a few chapters in what little precious free time he has.

One evening, Jane knocks at his door, a copy of her own novel in her hands. She presents it as a gift, and he should be flattered, but he feels betrayed. Her intentions were pure, as pure as the flames that burned his own manuscript, tossed in the fire by his own hands.

If Catherine reads the book, he never asks, and she never speaks of it. He finds himself terrified by the thought of her feeling being betrayed. That he would tell their story, allow it to be written, without her permission.

It bothers him so much that he pulls back, and, confused, her actions mirror his.  
Neither are good at getting the words out. Oh, he wrote them, many times, but baring his soul to her verbally is a skill he lacks, and she has a wall up that would rival any the Romans left behind.  
Their courtship ends soon after that.

He marries a redhead who is nothing like Catherine. And he lives a comfortable life with his wife and daughter. But he always thinks about her, and what might have been.

* * *

_I wonder if you'll remember me,  
from a past life…_

* * *

When he sees her in 2009, when their eyes meet in the crowded room, there’s a familiarity about her that piques his curiosity. Maybe she has attended his book signings? Maybe she was the arresting officer that warm night when he rode a horse naked through the park? He really hopes it's that second one. 

He's drawn to her.

Detective Beckett. Kate. He’s always liked the name Kate. There’s something timeless about it. Elegant. Strong. Wise. Challenging.

Kate Beckett proves to be all of those things and more. So much more. Despite all he learns, she continues to surprise him. He could spend a lifetime loving this woman and still find himself unraveling the mystery of her to his dying day.

It’s four years before he manages to get an _I love you_ out, almost five before she turns up at his door and kisses the hurt away; seven long years pass and they finally make a promise to spend the rest of their lives together.

He thinks they were meant to be though, despite how difficult the journey has been at times. For both of them. It’s sappy, even for him, but Kate Beckett makes him believe in soul mates.

Kate lies in his arms, one cool Autumn evening, New York City rain tapping lightly on the window. Curled into him, because it’s cold, and because after all these years together – decades now – her body still seeks his out across the California King bed. She is molded to him. Like she’s never belonged anywhere else. Like he hasn’t either.  
Maybe they did meet before, in this life. She did admit, shyly, years ago now, that she attended a few of his book signings in her youth. Maybe he saw her, maybe he had just been waiting to see her again. Or maybe his soul has always known hers, time and time again.  
He scoffs a little at the last thought and breathes a kiss to her temple when she stirs from his slight huff.  
  
It would sure make for a good book though….

* * *

_Will the kids ask me where we go,  
when we disappear?_

* * *


End file.
